


waiting on a lightning strike

by morganoconner



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dancing, Dubious Consent, M/M, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-28
Updated: 2014-11-28
Packaged: 2018-02-27 08:36:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2686283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morganoconner/pseuds/morganoconner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brady and Sam have been circling each other for a while by the time the demon takes over.</p>
            </blockquote>





	waiting on a lightning strike

**Author's Note:**

  * For [quickreaver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quickreaver/gifts).



> For quickreaver, who gave me a couple prompts for my [college fundraiser](http://morganoconner.livejournal.com/303231.html). This was not the one I expected to write, let me tell you. This thing just sort of appeared on the page without my say-so. I really don't know what happened. :P
> 
> I labeled this as dub-con because Sam does not know that a demon has taken over Brady. As such, he cannot truly consent to the activities that take place in this fic.
> 
> Title is (as I promised would happen in the notes of my last posted fic) from Nickelback. I still regret nothing.

It took a lot of finesse to get Sam Winchester to agree to go to a party. Which, in itself, said a lot about what kind of guy Brady was dealing with here. Really, come on. _This_ was Azazel's favorite? This floppy-haired mutt? This earnest, goody-goody, mopey, pathetic excuse of an ex-hunter?

_Really?_

But Brady didn't question orders. Things like that got you stuffed back into the Pit and onto a rack, and anyone stupid enough to piss off someone like Azazel ended up on _Alastair's_ rack and…no. Fuck that, thank you very much. Brady had done his time, centuries ago.

Besides, these were orders he didn't mind following. This was actually _fun_. College was great, chock full of drugs and sex and parties as far as the eye could see. Practically a demon's playground. He didn't mind laying low here for a couple years and keeping an eye on the youngest Winchester, getting him back on track for the plans Azazel had for him. Hell, it was a fucking _honor_ , as far as Brady was concerned.

The biggest problem was Brady's meatsuit. The _real_ Tyson Brady, the one who was screaming his head off night and day. Because the _real_ Tyson Brady had all these messy fuzzy feelings for Winchester, and they were a little bit…smothering.

Thing is, sometimes a demon who wasn't careful enough could find himself…infected by the meat they wore. All those _feelings_ humans were so fond of, they tended to dig under an unsuspecting demon's skin a little, if you took his meaning. And the really strong emotions, those could do some real damage. They could get in the way.

And Tyson Brady's feelings were plenty strong. He practically _reeked_ of want and desperation and _love_ , and hell if it wasn't going to drive Brady into killing something soon just to get a break from it. And Sam wasn't any better, with the way those puppy-dog eyes tracked Brady through a crowded room, the way he wanted to _fix_ Brady, cure him all of his 'problems'. These two had been doing some kind of complicated mating dance around each other for an entire year before Brady took over, and just sifting through the memories of it was exhausting.

But it was all good, because Brady had a plan. And it was a _good_ plan, if he said so himself, okay, this plan would win him all kinds of points with Azazel because it was perfect. Both Brady and the body he was in would get exactly what they wanted out of this. It was foolproof.

He scanned the crowd as he and Sam entered the frat house. The party was in full swing already, with alcohol flowing and music pumping and people dancing in ways that probably counted as foreplay and might actually be illegal in certain parts of the country.

"Hey, man, are you sure you want to be here?" Sam asked. He had to lean over and speak almost directly in Brady's ear to be heard, and his warm breath on Brady's skin was almost as good as a drug. The cage the _real_ Tyson Brady was locked in inside his mind rattled hard.

"Nowhere better," Brady said with a grin, bumping his shoulder against Sam's.

Sam frowned, his expression so sincere and caring it made Brady want to vomit. "It's just, there's that huge paper I know you have due…"

"Party now. Work later." Brady shoved Sam deeper into the depths of the house and straight to the beer keg. Where, wonder of wonders, a certain blond was standing, looking a little out of her depth as she sipped her drink and stared around at the chaos.

If Jessica was here, this party could really get started.

"Hey, hey Sam, dude, c'mere," Brady said, grabbing Sam's arm and dragging him closer. "Jess, this is my good buddy Sam. Sam, Jessica."

Sam offered a hesitant smile, holding his hand out. "Nice to meet you," he said, yelling to be heard over the music.

"You too!" Jess replied, and Brady caught the way her eyes swept up and down Sam's form, the way her hand lingered in his hold for a little longer than necessary. Sam flushed a little, but his smile grew more sure of itself on his face even as he ducked his head.

Brady smiled, pleased. _Bait set_ , he thought. _Time for part two_. Because it wouldn't be easy enough just to introduce them, oh no. Sam Winchester was too loyal to actually be interested in her, not when his heart was set on his best friend. That torch had been burning for way too long, and it was high time something was done about it.

Brady practically squirmed in anticipation, even while the real Tyson Brady pleaded with him, begging him not to do this. It was okay, though. Because Brady could feel _his_ anticipation, too. The part of him that wanted, that had always wanted, the part of him that didn't care why or how, just thought _yes_ and _now_ and _please_.

It was a small part, but it was enough for Brady to work with.

And hey! If at the end of it all, the real Tyson Brady was broken into little tiny pieces that couldn't fit back together again, well, that would just be a nice little bonus.

"Sam, I wanna dance," Brady said.

"So go –"

Brady didn't let him finish that thought, just took Sam's arm in a grip that was strong enough to leave bruises and dragged him into the middle of the pumping, grinding, writhing mess of human bodies.

They were immediately pressed close, too close, and Brady watched the sweat bead on Sam's collar. He felt the way Sam's breathing sped up and his heart began pumping harder, faster. His hands went to Sam's hips and he tugged him in even more as they started to move to the beat, and now he could feel the effect he was having on Sam's body in other ways, _better_ ways.

" _Fuck_ ," Sam breathed, and it would have been too soft for a human to hear, but Brady didn't have those limitations. He let his lips curl up into a slow smile.

Sam leaned down, but his mouth didn't go where Brady wanted it too; instead, he stopped a breath away from Brady's ear. "Brady, are you –"

Brady turned his face and caught Sam's mouth with his own, biting down on Sam's bottom lip and swallowing the sound he made. He let one of the hands still resting on Sam's hip slide around, dipping into Sam's jeans, fingers brushing the swell of his ass, and he captured the sounds that produced, too.

"No talking," he growled against Sam's mouth, not even sure if Sam could hear him or not. He wondered, in a vague sort of way, if Jess was watching. If she was jealous, if she wanted to be where Brady was right now. He really hoped so. "You want this," Brady said, pulling away just enough that Sam could see him mouthing the words.

Sam's eyes were dark, pupils blown like Brady was a drug he was getting the ultimate high from.

"You want _me_ ," Brady said, and this time, Sam nodded, slow.

"Then come and get me, Winchester." Brady squeezed Sam's ass, taking great pleasure in the way Sam bucked forward like he couldn't help himself. He gave Sam one delicious moment of friction before he released him, turning and sauntering his way out of the mob.

He didn't have to turn to know Sam was following him. Out of the room, up the stairs, through the frat house and into a bathroom that smelled like sweat and vomit and sex but was currently nice and empty. Sam closed the door behind them, and Brady locked it with a thought, already shoving Sam against it and going for his belt.

Sam gave him a strangled moan when Brady's hands closed around him, and his fingers fumbled with the button of Brady's slacks, clumsy in their desperation. Brady raked a hand down his torso, and the buttons of Sam's shirt scattered. If Sam thought anything was weird about that, he wasn't in any position to say so, because all he did was give another sound like a wanton whore and finally shove Brady's pants down.

"Yeah, that's it," Brady said when Sam managed to spin them so Brady was the one pressed against the door. "Fucking take what you want, Winchester. _Do it_."

Sam shut Brady up easily enough, claiming his mouth in a rough kiss Brady wouldn't have thought him capable of ten minutes ago.

It was nothing at all after that for Brady to press a hand to Sam's shoulder, and Sam, eager as a back-alley slut, allowed himself to be guided to his knees.

Even with the pure bolt of lust that shot through him as Sam's mouth closed around the hard length of his cock (and holy hell, the kid was practically _gagging_ for it), Brady couldn't stop his mouth from curling into a triumphant grin. He let his head fall back against the door, curled greedy fingers into the thick strands of Sam's hair, and held on for the ride.

In spite of the fact that there was no way he had any experience at this, Sam's throat opened for Brady's cock like it had been made for exactly this purpose; he reached up and pinned Brady's hips still when Brady started to thrust, but he never stopped, never faltered. The sounds he made would have anyone else thinking that _he_ was getting the blowjob of his life in here, and Brady thought that just made it hotter, how frantic, how _desperate_ Sam was. It made him think he'd like to see how Sam took it when he was stuffed at both ends, fucked loose and sloppy, gagging around a nice fat cock while another pounded that ass…

Brady didn't even realize how close he was until he was already shooting his load into Sam's throat, and he might have actually whined – just a tiny bit – when Sam swallowed it down without releasing him.

Fucking _hell_. Maybe there was something to this kid being Azazel's favorite after all.

Brady pulled Sam up roughly and slammed forward, crushing his mouth to Sam's, wanting to taste this body's seed on Sam's tongue. He reached down to cup Sam through his unbuttoned jeans, and laughed into his mouth when he found a large wet spot in the denim.

"Really are a slut for it, aren't you, Sammy?"

Sam pulled away, breathing hard, and leaned his forehead against Brady's. "It's _Sam_ ," he gasped, an old argument that this time around didn't seem to hold the same amount of weight as it usually did.

Brady smirked, clutching Sam's body to him as they both caught their breath. Sam turned enough to nuzzle – to fucking _nuzzle_ – Brady's cheek, and to whisper Brady's name so damn tenderly it should have made Brady want to kill him. Brady had killed other people for less.

But it was okay. Really, it was the perfect opening. This was it, this was the moment where he was supposed to laugh it all off, make it into a joke. Hurt Sam, hurt him bad, and steer him right into Jessica's waiting arms. She was waiting, she was already interested, it would be so _easy_ , and Sam would lap up the comfort she'd offer like the big dumb golden retriever he was.

But hell if Brady felt like letting him go, just now. Sam was warm here in his arms, and already stirring in interest again against his thigh, and maybe it wouldn't matter much if Brady kept him for a little longer.

A few days, a few weeks, a couple months _tops_. Just a little more time for him to play with his new toy.

Then he'd get back to his mission.


End file.
